


Falling for a False Sense (of Security)

by valahallalmalla



Series: Mall Tales [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Alternate Universe - Shopping Center, Classy Bitch Ruby Lucas, F/F, Gen, Humor, Security Guard Emma Swan, Security Guard Hua Mulan, Store Manager Regina Mills, alternate universe - mall, the title is word salad honestly pay no attention to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26891488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valahallalmalla/pseuds/valahallalmalla
Summary: Five moments in which Emma Swan, mall cop, is humiliated by/thanks to/in the general vicinity of the scary-hot department store manager, and the one moment that makes them all worth it.
Relationships: Belle/Mulan (Once Upon a Time), Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, Mulan & Red Riding Hood | Ruby
Series: Mall Tales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2058822
Comments: 18
Kudos: 153





	Falling for a False Sense (of Security)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wanted to write something that:  
> a) was in the fandom that introduced me to fanfic (damn you, OUAT)  
> b) had something resembling romance  
> c) would actually be finished sometime this decade  
> The 5+1 format just sort of happened, but it really helped me keep the plot (such as it is) moving and stopped me from going down my usual worldbuilding rabbit hole.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

# ONE

“It’s clearly Mill’s.”

“Mills.”

“Mill’s.”

“Mills.”

“Mill _’sss_.”

As she draws out the S, Emma feels herself spit a little. Wincing, she clears her throat and wipes her mouth as subtly as she can, but it’s too late. When she glances at Mulan, her partner sends back an all-too-familiar look of mingled amusement and pity. Mulan maintains solid eye contact long enough for Emma to open her mouth—not quite sure what’ll come out this time— _then_ finally speaks up.

“There’s no apostrophe.” In a grand display of mercy, she doesn’t let Emma dig herself any deeper, instead returning to their idle debate. Her thumbs hooked into her uniform belt, the dark-haired woman gestures with her chin, pointing across the concourse. “So: Mills.”

Emma cocks her head, letting her eyes drift from the sign to the storefront beneath it. Her shoes squeak on the tile as she shifts, flapping a hand toward the oversized letters. “That can't be right. Who just slaps their name on a department store? I mean, you gotta add a -Mart or an -’s or something.”

“It was originally Mills & Blanchard,” an accented voice cuts in from behind. “Does that help?”

Emma pivots to smile at Belle. So does Mulan, minus the smile. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice stiff. “Have we been loitering too long?” One arm jerks up to encompass the storefront of Belle’s Books, where they’ve been standing for the past several minutes. “We can go.” Her gaze flickers to Belle, then drops.

Tellingly, she makes no move to leave.

The shopkeep herself just rolls her eyes, leaning against her doorframe. “Nonsense. Stay! It’s before noon on a weekday. I’m not exactly drowning in customers.”

“Besides, we’re security. We can't _loiter_ ,” scoffs Emma. “When we do it, it’s called standing guard.”

Mulan keeps her expression carefully blank, her gaze fixed on the toes of her boots. “Still,” she mumbles. Again, her eyes dart to Belle’s, which twinkle back. “We’d hate to disturb you.”

“You could never.”

They're adorable, but Emma has more important things in mind. “Mills & Blanchard _’s_?” she ventures, only to have her hopes conclusively crushed by an amused shake of Belle’s head. “Fine,” Emma grumbles. “Whatever. So what happened to Blanchard?”

“It’s a wonderful story,” gushes Belle, face lighting up. Mulan exhales a soft sigh at the sight, shoulder brushing Emma’s as she sways closer to the brunette. “Not a _happy_ one, though,” Belle admits, reining in her enthusiasm. “Almost tragic, I’d say—but aren't all the best tales? Y’see, years ago…”

To be honest, Emma sort of zones out after that. Lulled by Belle’s Australian tones, she lazily surveys their corner of the mall, from the elderly couples strolling the walkways to the sticky chaos of the food court downstairs to the kid—

She blinks. To the kid methodically stripping the mannequins in the front window of Mills. Jerking to attention, she elbows Mulan out of her Belle-induced haze.

“That’s not good,” her partner says, paling. “That’s _really_ not good.”

“Oh, come on. He’s only…” Emma squints at the boy. “Ten? At least he’s not some old pervert.” They get those far too often. “What’s the big deal? I’ll just go tell him to knock it off and drag him back to his parents.”

But when she glances back, even Belle is gnawing her lip. “You’re new,” she says. “But you’ll learn fast: Nothing goes wrong at Mills. _Or else._ The manager, she…” Belle trails off, but her silence says it all.

With a deep breath, Mulan hitches up her belt. “I should—”

“No, I’ve got this.” Emma turns and strides across the concourse without waiting for agreement. She may be new to this whole mall security gig, but she can handle one kid.

Probably.

The first hint that something’s off is when she sees what the kid has done with the clothes. Several pantsuits are folded neatly beneath their respective mannequins, and the boy is working on a third, smoothing the wrinkles from a shirt almost as big as he is.

“Uh, hey,” Emma stops at the back of the window box, making her best attempt at an authoritative pose. “What’cha doing there, buddy?”

“Hi,” says the boy. He glances at her once, scratches his nose, then goes back to dismantling the display. If nothing else, Emma has to admire his dedication.

“Hey,” she tries again. “Did someone put you up to this? Some older kids, maybe?”

“Nope.” He starts to box up a pair of shoes, complete with that pointless tissue paper. Apparently, he’d come prepared. “Just my mom.”

“Does your mom… work here?”

“Sort of.”

Seriously, the kid is giving her _nothing_. Stepping closer, Emma sets a gentle hand on the little delinquent’s shoulder. “Look, you’ve gotta stop,” she says in what she hopes is a firm tone. “The mannequins…” She pauses, eyes darting from the naked figures to the kid’s innocent face. “They’ll… get cold.”

He giggles, round cheeks stretching with a grin, and Emma feels herself relax. “All right,” she chuckles, guiding him out of the window box. “How’s about we go find your mom?”

As she turns away from the bare-ass mannequins, Emma sees three things. First, Mulan finally tearing herself away from Belle, eyes wide as she starts across the concourse. Second, Belle herself slipping back into her shop, sparing Emma a sympathetic look as she retreats. And third, a well-dressed woman storming toward her from deeper within the store.

“Unhand my son!” she spits. Not literally; unlike Emma, she’s far too put-together for that, but the whipcrack of her voice still make Emma jump. Her back goes painfully straight as the woman approaches, steps clacking furiously on the tile.

“Sorry, ma’am,” she manages, watching sparks of anger flash across deep brown eyes. “Is this your kid?”

Right on cue, the kid in question wriggles away and scampers to his mother’s side. She gives him a quick squeeze before crouching to scrutinize his face, smooth legs flexing beneath her nylons. Though he wrinkles his nose, the boy accepts the inspection with a minimum of squirming.

Emma, on the other hand, is more than a little disgruntled. First off, no one should be able to squat that gracefully in heels and a pencil skirt. Second, it’s not like she’d been _manhandling_ the kid. He’s fine.

“What did I just say?” sneers the woman, rising back to her full height. Emma registers that she’s a few inches taller than the mom, even with the shorter woman boosted by her shoes. “Are the words ‘my’ and ‘son’ too complicated for someone of your facilities?”

Emma feels herself bristle. _Excuse_ her for not taking the word of a random stranger, right? Still, the code of conduct hammered into her skull by her recent orientation has her pasting on a smile. “I’m very sorry, ma’am,” she grits out, trying not to savor what she’s about to say and failing miserably. “But your child was… inappropriately handling the display merchandise.”

The look aimed at her only grows more incredulous. “Because _I_ asked him to,” snaps the mom, tucking a curl of dark, silky hair behind one ear. Red lips slant into a haughty frown as she gives Emma a blatant once-over. “You really don’t know who I am, do you…” Her eyes burn into Emma’s nameplate before snapping back up to lock with the blonde’s. “Officer Swan?”

Oh, she’s one of _those_. Emma holds up her hands in a placating gesture. “Look, lady, I don’t know what to tell you. If you ask nicely, maybe they’ll let you try on the window clothes,” she soothes.

Something throbs in the woman’s forehead. “ _If I_ _ask nicely_ ,” she echoes, tongue sliding around the words like a knife. A soft scoff escapes her lips, followed by something under her breath that sounds a lot like _“You imbecile.”_

“Yeah, if you ask nicely, _maybe_ ,” repeats Emma, patience rapidly draining. “Or you can just keep being a—”

Mulan’s hand clamps down on her shoulder as she arrives at last. “Good job, Emma,” she says, panting slightly. “It looks like everything’s under control.”

Emma frowns. “Uh, mostly. Except for—”

The grip on her shoulder tightens. “And Miss Mills,” greets Mulan. “How are you?”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

“Oh, f—”

“This is Emma,” Mulan continues, fingers digging into her partner’s shoulder. “She’s new.”

Miss Mills aims a dark look at Emma, who resists the urge to take a healthy step back. She was just doing her job. There’s absolutely _no reason_ for her to be in trouble.

Right?

“Good morning, Officer Hua.” The mom’s tone cools slightly, though her eyes never stop lasering into Emma’s. “My day _was_ going quite well.”

# TWO

The food court is already one of Emma’s favorite places to stand guard. True, it may be sticky and loud, but it’s never boring. The smell of fast food and the constant overlapping chatter reminds her of home. Foster home, that is, so she’s not exactly nostalgic, but there’s still comfort in the familiar.

Plus, Granny’s gives out free samples. Mulan insists that the security staff can't be seen eating in public—it would betray weakness, she claims—but Emma knows free samples don’t count.

Speaking of, maybe it’s time for another lap of the area. She’s pretty sure she saw Ruby heading out with a fresh tray…

“Hi Emma!”

Emma looks down to find a familiar face. It beams back, the attached hand tugging on her slacks. “Kid? How do you know my name?”

The look Emma gets in response sends her flashing back to her brush with his mother. “Mulan said it,” he points out. “I have _ears_ , you know. And a name.”

They stare at each other for a long moment.

“Are… you gonna tell me it?” prods Emma, glancing up to scan the sea of shoppers thronging the food court. The older, more terrifying Mills has to be nearby, and she’s not exactly enthusiastic about being blindsided for the second time this week.

She’s done her research—well, she’s talked to Ruby, part-time free sample girl and full-time gossip—and there’s a reason Regina Mills is not-quite-affectionately referred to as the Evil Queen of Storybrooke Mall. She may not be the “Mills” for whom the department store was named—that would be her mother—but she reigns over the local outlet with an iron fist.

Her store is one of the mall’s biggest draws, right up there with the cineplex and the petting zoo, giving its manager considerable pull in mall politics. According to Ruby, the shopping center runs on a bizarre sort of feudal system, of which Regina is one of the primary feud…ers. Her influence is strongest with nearby shops like Belle’s, but the woman herself is apparently recognized—and feared—on sight by the entire Storybrooke community. Less, however, is known about her son—

“Henry,” says Henry. “Can I have a quarter?”

When she looks back at the boy, Emma finds him staring at the little vending machines installed near the food court’s entrance. There are three of them, little more than glass-and-metal boxes with coin slots installed underneath. Colorful, sugary blobs fill the machines, an easy lure to any passing child.

“Does your mom know you’re here?” she sighs.

Henry grins up at her, impish and utterly unconcerned. “She will if I’m not back soon.” Emma feels herself go pale, and sees victory flash in the kid’s eye. “So… can I have a quarter?”

“Sorry, all out.” She really is, thanks to the coin-guzzling laundry machines in her apartment building, but from the unimpressed look on Henry’s face, that’s not good enough.

“Then I guess I’ll just wait,” he says, kicking one sneakered foot at the floor. “I bet Mom will have some when she gets here. I sure hope she’s in a better mood than this morning.” Though he tries to stay casual, his eyes betray him, flicking back to Emma as he fights to keep a straight face.

“You little hustler,” Emma grumbles without venom. “Fine, come on.” Hiding a smile of her own, she checks over both shoulders a final time before trudging across the floor with Henry skipping at her side. She may not have spare change, but these machines haven't changed since her own checkered childhood.

“Watch and learn.” With a wink at Henry, she trawls her pockets for stray hairpins. Finding one, she pokes it into the coin slot of one machine and grabs the attached crank with her free hand. After a moment’s fiddling, she feels the knob loosen, gives it a twist, and grins as something rattles down the chute. Triumphant, Emma lifts the flap on the front of the machine and fishes out a bright pink ball wrapped in crinkly plastic.

“ _Cool_.” Henry is suitably impressed. “Teach me!”

“I don’t think so.”

Both of them freeze at the icy words from behind. Emma curses inwardly as she straightens, turning slowly as if a lack of sudden movement will do anything to protect her from her impending doom.

“I see you continue to nudge my son into delinquency,” says Regina Mills, eyes locking with Emma’s. The blonde folds her arms and drops her gaze, but looking down is no safer. Today the store manager is in some kind of clingy blue dress, formal enough to stand out from the passing shoppers while somehow also tight enough that Emma can't find a safe place to look.

When her eyes retreat back to the relative safety of the shorter woman’s face, it holds the barest shadow of smug amusement. “Shouldn’t you be at your post, Miss Swan?”

“We don’t really have those,” says Emma, clinging to the desperate hope of a defense. “Mostly, we roam. Lot of ground to cover, y’know?”

“And yet here you are,” drawls Regina. “Feeding my son sugar before noon.” Her gaze drops to Henry, softening in the blink of an eye. “Henry, sweetheart, you know the rules. No candy before lunch. And we’ve _talked_ about not leaving the store without me.” The raw caring in her words almost gives Emma whiplash, a stark contrast to her previous razor tones. Her love is almost a physical presence, and being so close to it makes Emma’s gut twist uncomfortably for reasons she can't—won't—put to words.

The blonde clears her throat, taking a step away from mother and son. “This was for me, actually,” she claims, unwrapping the gumball. Regina watches, eyes narrowing and full lips pursing like the very sight of sugar offends her.

“Emma…” says Henry, matching his mother’s frown. “That isn't—”

“No, kid, I was just messing with you. Please,” she scoffs. “Like I would give a child candy before… noon, or whatever.” She’s not sure if this is making her look any better, but she’s committed now. Nothing left to do but eat the candy and make a quick escape. The boy and his mom watch with a kind of frozen horror as she pops the gumball into her mouth, horror Emma doesn’t quite understand.

At least, not until she bites down and is painfully reminded that some of the stupid little candy machines sell bouncy balls instead.

# THREE

“Remind me why we’re here?”

“Hua Mulan coming in with the big questions!” Ruby laughs, throwing an arm around Mulan’s shoulders. “There’re many schools of thought,” she muses, free hand waving illustratively. Her plastic mug, half-full of strawberry margarita, narrowly misses Emma’s ear as the blonde leans back with a grin. “Personally, I subscribe to _Nihilism_ —”

“Really?” Emma sits forward, brows rising as she steadies her own drink. She doesn’t know a ton about Ruby—or, for that matter, nihilism—but from what she’s seen, the two don’t have much in common. “Like, ‘life has no meaning’ and all that crap? You’re full of surprises, Rubes.”

“I contain multitudes,” the brunette says smugly, then pokes herself in the ear with her curly straw. “But no, I mean the magazine. _Nihilism_ is where I get all my hair dying tips. And my hair dye. I mail-order it from Europe,” she boasts, trying and failing to close crimson lips around her straw as she speaks.

Emma nods. Judging from the red streaks in the other girl’s hair, European hair dye looks a lot like the kind from the mall drugstore. “It’s paying off,” she lies. “But what does that have to do with—”

“I meant _here_ here,” sighs Mulan, reaching out to steady Ruby’s drink. Her friend lets out an appreciative noise as she finally captures the straw and starts to slurp. “At Applebee’s.”

The Applebee’s in the mall, to be precise, which Emma isn't sure how to feel about. On one hand, the last thing she wants is to spend more time in this building after back-to-back night and day shifts. On the other, Mordred the bartender, an ex-security guard himself, always rounds down on their tab and pours generously.

“Because we deserve it.” Ruby slams down her mug, now nearly empty. “We’ve been _over this_ , girl. Why do I bring you here? Tell me why.”

“Because I’m a classy bitch,” recites Mulan, straight-faced.

“That’s right!” whoops Ruby. “You security the fuck out of this place, and you deserve to sit your ass down at a table of real wood—”

“It’s not real,” Mulan says. “I asked them after you said that last time.”

“Real fake wood,” continues Ruby, undaunted. “Sitting on real fake leather, with that crazy stained-glass light thingy…” She trails off, staring up at the lamp with slightly glassy eyes. “Yeah. Classy,” she concludes.

“I’ll drink to that,” laughs Emma, holding up her glass. It’s a third full of brown liquid—not whisky, as it had looked like on the menu, but an ungodly mixture of vodka and Coke that’s sort of growing on her. Mulan matches it with her beer, and Ruby hollers for a refill before knocking her empty mug with theirs. She doesn’t get the Mordred discount, but she also never pays, so it evens out.

After their toast, Emma meets Mulan’s eye across the table. “You and Belle,” she says, watching the blood drain from her partner’s face. “What’s the story there?”

“Good one,” snorts Ruby.

“What?”

“Story? You know, because of the whole sexy Australian librarian thing?” Ruby turns a wolfish grin on their friend, who is doing her best to melt into her chair. “Anyway, there is no story, because someone hasn’t managed to sack up for… how long has she been working here? Two years?”

“Twenty-two months,” mumbles Mulan, not helping her case. “And it’s not that easy.”

“You used to get shot at for a living,” Ruby scoffs. “How is this harder than that?”

Instead of dignifying that with a response, Mulan turns to glare daggers at Emma. “Traitor,” she grumbles. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to make her stop bringing that up?”

“Good.” Emma grins, unrepentant. “Sounds like you need the push.”

“See?” Ruby offers her a delighted high five. “Ems gets it!”

Mulan lets her head loll back. “You’re like a dog with a bone,” she whines. _Whines_. Emma is quietly thrilled by this new side of Mulan, the one she never sees on duty. Groaning, the dark-haired woman flops forward, but then sits up, brightening. “Swan, look,” she says, pointing with her chin. “It’s your nemesis.”

Emma looks, then turns back around and pretends she hadn't. The incident with the vending machine from hell had been weeks ago, but ever since, she’s been doing her best to avoid the manager of Mills. She’s found little success, because the other woman is apparently _everywhere_. Supervising the loading dock the one morning Emma decides to lend a hand. In the parking lot, sliding into the spot Emma is seconds from claiming. Escorting Henry to a movie at the same time that Emma is press-ganged into fishing a concession stand worker’s necklace out of the slushie machine.

Elsa owes her big for that one. The damn thing had turned itself on with her arm still inside, treating Regina, Henry, and this afternoon’s crop of moviegoers to a bonus showing of _Security Guard Almost Drowns in Flavored Ice_.

“Shit, she’s coming over!” Ruby says in a deafening whisper. “How drunk do I look?”

“ _Very_ ,” grits out Mulan.

“Oh, good,” sighs the brunette.

“Good?”

Ruby burps. “Yeah, ‘cause I’m feeling _extremely_.”

“Just let me do the—Miss Mills!” Being two and a half beers in herself, Mulan greets Regina with far more enthusiasm than the situation warrants.

“At ease, Officer Hua,” the manager chuckles. Emma hears her footsteps stop just behind her chair, her very presence warming the space between her shoulder blades. “Good evening, Miss Lucas. Officer Swan, I see you’re eating actual food today.” Emma can imagine her chocolate eyes sweeping over their table of greasy, battered, and thoroughly sauced-up appetizers. “More or less. I assume you’re to blame for Henry’s sudden craving for… riblets?”

Steeling herself, Emma turns at last. “Regina,” she greets, watching the other woman’s eyebrows ascend. “Long time no see.”

“Let’s not get too familiar, Officer Swan,” Regina says coolly. “You may be off duty, but I am still—”

“Not my boss,” states Emma. “I double-checked. Unless you conquered the security department between now and this morning, _Your Majesty.”_

Behind her, she hears Ruby hum a low _“Oooooooh”_ before Mulan claps a hand over her mouth.

“Don’t tempt me.” The way Regina’s eyes flash really should not be as captivating as it is. After a stare that lasts just a moment too long, her gaze slides away from Emma’s, tracing blatantly downwards. Is that the flicker of a tongue over her lips?

“It’s… interesting to see you all out of uniform.” Though the comment is addressed to the table at large, her eyes have returned to Emma’s and show no signs of leaving.

“I’m always at least half out of uniform,” hiccups Ruby, earning another hopeless moan from Mulan.

Regina’s smile is downright immoral—and still aimed straight at Emma. “I’ve noticed.” The blonde feels her spine straighten without any input from her brain, shoulders squaring beneath her—as Ruby would put it—real fake leather jacket. “Miss Swan, I’m impressed. You’ve found something less fashionable than head-to-toe khaki.”

“I’ve never had any complaints,” Emma defends, which only brings a sharper tilt to Regina’s smirk.

“And the uniform’s not that bad,” objects Mulan, earning a sideways glare from her partner.

“Perhaps.” Regina hitches one shoulder, the movement doing interesting things to the front of her blouse. “I suppose it’s growing on me.”

Before Emma can do more than open her mouth, someone calls Regina’s name, and she makes her goodbyes. Emma watches her leave with lips still ajar, tracing the sway of her hips as she struts to the takeout counter. Regina only looks back once, just long enough to send Emma’s jaw snapping shut as she realizes she’s been caught.

Folding her arms, the blonde swivels back to her table and is met by two faces, one incredulous and one elated.

“What was that?” demands Mulan.

“I’ll tell you what _that_ was,” chortles Ruby. “Mills and Emma, sitting in a tree, S-C-iss-or-I-N—”

“Not you!” As Ruby pouts, Mulan aims a solemn—if slightly tipsy—glare at her partner. “Swan, explain.”

“ _I_ sure as fuck don’t know!” Emma cries. “It—We—Our— _Whatever_ it is started small, but it’s been getting worse.”

Ruby leers. “You mean better.”

“It’s probably nothing?” Emma says, unable to even convince herself. “Yeah. Nothing.”

Mulan pinches the bridge of her nose. “Ruby,” she says. “How long has it been since the security uniforms were changed?”

“Oh, Mister Gold’s too cheap for that. They haven't changed as long as I’ve been here,” the brunette answers. “And that’s _ages_.”

“And how many times has Miss Mills ever even commented on them?”

“Before Emma got here, you mean?”

Emma lets her forehead hit the table. “I get it, I get it.”

Shaking her head, Mulan leans forward. “You know this is a bad idea,” she says. “Ruby, tell her why.”

“Because she’s a _real_ classy bitch. Emphasis on the b—”

“I _get_ it!”

# FOUR

It’s an hour past closing, the mall is dark, and Emma is on patrol.

Or she was, until she heard something shatter. Now she’s creeping through an unfamiliar store, wondering if it’s a break-in or if that damn badger is back. The lights are on in one of the back rooms, which probably rules out the badger, but Emma’s not taking any chances. She clicks off her flashlight as she nears the doorway, hefting it like a club as she takes a slow breath. Just in case, her other hand falls to her belt radio, thumb resting on the call button.

“And _what_ do you think you’re doing?”

“Jesus!” Emma jumps, bangs her elbow into the doorframe, and stumbles in a pained circle before glaring into the darkness behind her. There she sees a face floating in the murk, one elegant brow arching as Regina takes a step back from the flailing security guard. “Warn a girl next time, would you?”

“Isn't that your job?” With a snort, the manager brushes past Emma. “So these are the hands in which our security rests. Color me reassured.”

One of said hands clenches around Emma’s flashlight as she slides it back into her belt. “What are you doing here, Regina?” she huffs.

“In my store?”

“This isn't—” Emma pauses. Turns. Squints back into the gloom behind her. “Is it?”

“Indeed it is,” Regina drawls, dry as a desert. “I’m here doing my job,” she elaborates. “I had a few late shipments to unpack, and one slipped.” She holds up a brush and dustpan, then nods at a mirror face-down on the floor of the illuminated office. “I assume the crash is what brought on this spurt of amateur policing?”

“Maybe,” grumbles Emma. As Regina pads further into the room, she notes her stockinged feet, bare of the usual heels. Their absence explains her silent approach—and draws a warning hiss from Emma as she approaches the spray of broken glass.

“Careful!” She moves without thought, slipping past Regina to lift the now-empty frame off the floor, settling it against the wall before holding out her hand for Regina’s brush and pan.

She hands them over, lips quirking at the corners. “My savior,” she murmurs. Of course, this is immediately followed by: “Don’t you have _actual_ work to do?”

“The mall can look after itself for a few minutes,” says Emma, dropping to one knee and starting to sweep. “We’ve already had our excitement for the month.”

Regina’s next exhale is laced with a chuckle. “Ah yes. The Great Badger Incident.”

“How—” Emma feels her brow wrinkle before realization strikes. “Oh. Henry.”

“Sometimes it feels like your tall tales are all he talks about.” There’s a hint of warning in Regina’s tone, but only a hint. The rest is downright languid, carrying the smirk Emma can't see but knows is there. “My son has an inexplicable fascination with you, Miss Swan.”

“It’s just because I get to carry a Taser,” Emma deflects even as she smiles at the floor. “And what do you mean, ‘tall tales’? That badger was serious business.” She finishes collecting the shards of mirror and starts pushing them into the dustpan. “Henry’s great,” she ventures. “Reminds me a lot of you.”

“Hopefully not too much.”

Frowning, Emma stands, filled dustpan in hand. “What’s that suppo—”

The question dies halfway up her throat, when she turns back around to see Regina perched on the edge of her desk. Her legs are crossed, her hands resting light on her knee, and her eyes… Her eyes are _on fire_ , burning with promise to match the teeth peeking over her lower lip. Emma’s also fairly sure her shirt hadn't been unbuttoned so low a minute ago.

“I suppose it’s not _so_ inexplicable,” Regina muses, voice a wicked purr. “You do have your moments, _Emma_.”

Emma takes a step forward before she can stop herself, spellbound by her name on Regina’s lips. Her own mouth opens and she speaks, voice husky with weeks of tension.

“Like the time I almost choked to death on a SuperBall?”

No. _No._ Why does she let herself talk?

But Regina’s seductive mask merely softens, true amusement leaking into her smile. “Not the moment I was thinking of,” she laughs, then recovers, lashes fluttering. It would be over the top if it didn’t work so damn well, sending a rush of heat straight down through Emma’s gut and beyond. “Why don’t you come closer and let me show you?”

Emma does, barely thinking to dump her panful of broken glass and chuck the brush after it. Then she’s across the room, Regina leaning up to meet her, and there’s no place for thinking at all.

Afterward, when they’ve migrated to Regina’s absurdly padded swivel chair, Emma lets herself savor the weight and warmth of the woman in her lap. Regina is sitting half-sideways, legs thrown over one armrest, back cradled in the crook of Emma’s left arm. Both of them are less than clothed but more than naked, Emma’s free hand wandering up and down Regina’s thigh.

“Speaking of _moments_ ,” she rasps, more than a little self-satisfied, and receives an elbow to the tit for her troubles.

“It’s been… some time,” Regina defends after a handful of sullen seconds. Like Emma, her voice is rough, scratchy from overuse. “But I trust I held up my end.”

“No complaints about either of your ends,” grins Emma, letting her hand wander a little higher. Regina merely arches at her touch, loose and content in a way Emma’s never seen.

So, naturally, she has to fuck it all up.

“Wait, what about Henry?” she says.

She _feels_ Regina go rigid in her arms, face tilting up to frown at Emma’s. “Do you really want to talk about my son _now_?” she grumbles, swinging one leg to the floor. It doesn’t quite reach, merely tangling in Emma’s and making them both shiver.

“Nope.” Emma is suddenly very sure about that. “Definitely not.”

“I thought not.” Eyes drifting shut, Regina cranes up to nip at Emma’s neck, teeth teasing another mark to the surface.

“I just meant…” Emma swallows. Why, _why_ is she still talking? “I just meant, if you’re here, who’s looking after him?”

This time, Regina sits up fully, taking her warmth with her. Emma feels a chill in more ways than one as the smaller woman slips to her feet without a backward glance at the blonde still puddled in her chair. “Henry is with his aunt,” she says, pacing around the desk in search of her skirt. “And I suppose you’re right: it’s past time I joined them.”

Why, _why_ , _WHY_ hasn’t Emma learned to shut herself up? She clambers upright as Regina dresses at competitive speeds, buttoning a thoroughly rumpled shirt while slipping into her heels. “Regina,” she starts, only to be silenced by a look.

“Thank you, Officer Swan,” says Regina. Her cheeks are still flushed, her voice sincere, but there’s no warmth anymore. She’s back to holding Emma at arm’s length, all business despite her tangled hair and swollen lips. “Truly. But that will be all.”

Then she’s gone, leaving Emma to smack her forehead, bite her tongue, and start searching for her underwear.

# FIVE

“It finally happened.”

“What have you heard?” Emma demands, a panicking hand twitching toward her throat. She’d thought she covered all the marks this morning, but…

“I almost didn’t have the courage,” Mulan hums, gazing mistily into the middle distance.

“ _You_ didn’t?” After a second to recalibrate her brain, Emma feels her eyes widen. “You finally manned up and asked Belle!”

“Womaned,” Mulan corrects on instinct, her smile small but blinding. “But yes. I did.”

“Sounds like you had a good night.” At least _one_ of them did.

Well, that’s not entirely fair. Emma’s night had been fantastic right up to the point where it had decided to pull a U-turn and speed in the opposite direction. Still, she manages not to look too sullen as her partner describes walking Belle to her car, screwing up her courage, and—

“What the hell?”

For once, Mulan doesn’t chastise her outburst. Like Emma, she’s frowning down the concourse, making sure their eyes aren’t playing tricks. But no, there’s really a dark-clad figure standing at the entrance to Mills, greeting shoppers with a professional smile.

“She got _private security_?” Emma glances at her partner, hoping there’s another explanation, but Mulan’s face holds nothing but stony indignation. “Real mature, Regina.”

“What did you do?” hisses Mulan, matching Emma’s pace as she strides toward the storefront. “Swan, _what did you do_?”

“G’morning.” The guy spares them a closed-mouth smile when he sees them approach, tousled hair falling over his forehead as he nods. His uniform is all black and sharp and annoyingly well fitted; and for a split second, Emma is jealous for reasons that have nothing to do with his employer.

Of course, even not-thinking about Regina brings the pounding back to her temples. _Why?_ is her first question, followed shortly by _Seriously, why?_ and _Did she really speed-hire a security guard out of spite?_

“You’d be the locals, then?” The man holds out a hand. “I’m Graham. Graham Humbert.”

“Mulan,” grunts Mulan, then gets straight to the point. “Who hired you?”

Graham scratches his beard. “Haven't actually caught her name yet. It’s been a real doozy of a morning. Paperwork, you know how it is.” His chuckle is low and genuine. Emma hates it. “It was a scary lady, dark hair, not the tallest tree in the—Oh!” He grins over their shoulders like a found puppy. “There she is now.”

Emma turns. Sees Regina frozen several paces away, one hand clutching Henry’s, the other clenched over her sternum. Something flickers in her eyes, but she refuses to look away, holding Emma’s gaze with stubborn pride.

“Officers,” she says, voice still slightly hoarse. “I see you’ve met my newest employee.”

Mulan respects her too much to glare, but she pins the manager with a very stern look. “This is highly unusual.”

“It’s all official.” Regina waves a hand, the motion far too casual. “I’ve worked it all out with Gold.”

“I see.” Mulan’s sternness ratchets up another few notches. “Speaking on behalf of the security office, we expect to be informed of hires like this one.” She jerks her head at Graham, who smiles nervously. “ _In advance_.”

Emma lets her eyes bore into Regina’s cheek, but the other woman has transitioned to avoiding her gaze at all costs. “My sincerest apologies,” she says. “I assure you it won't happen again. Now, if that’s all…”

Emma clears her throat.

Regina flat-out ignores her.

Well, two can play at that game. If she thinks Emma is above being childishly disruptive, she’s got another thing coming. By the time Regina can no longer feign deafness, Emma sounds like she’s attempting to hack out a hairball made of steel wool.

“ _Yes_ , Officer Swan?” she snarls.

Emma returns a wooden smile. “Miss Mills. A word?”

“Fine.” While Regina grudgingly follows her to relative privacy, Henry trots over to join Mulan, the pair staring at Graham with twin unimpressed expressions.

“Well?” As soon as they're out of earshot, Emma finds herself skewered by Regina’s glare. “What do you _want_ , Emma?”

“I—” She blinks. “Emma?”

“Miss Swan,” Regina amends, eyes darting away. “What is it? I’m waiting.”

“If you wanted space, you could have just _said_.” Emma isn't used to being the communicative one in any relationship—if you can call a couple months of barbed flirting and the best hour and a half of her life a _relationship_ —but usually she’s at least given the chance. “Do I look like that much of a clinger?”

Even as she forces out a laugh, she can't help but study Regina’s eyes, her lips, waiting for the flicker of silent agreement. It’s true; Emma’s never been one to latch on—she’s long since learned that she just isn't someone people want to keep around. Not when it matters.

But Regina’s face is a mask, hinting at nothing other than cool irritation. “Do try not to overestimate yourself, Officer Swan,” she says. “This personnel shift has been in the works for weeks. Don’t for a moment presume that our… intimate incident had any impact whatsoever on my business practices.”

“Uh huh. Right. Silly me. So we had absolutely nothing to do with how Graham over there was rushing through paperwork this morning?”

“Issues with the agency,” snaps Regina, not giving an inch. Jaw set, she turns back toward the store entrance, heels clicking against the tile. “So, unless you intend to continue wasting both our time…”

“I’m sorry,” Emma mumbles, and hears Regina’s footsteps falter. “It’s Henry, right? I know, I shouldn’t’ve said anything. He’s not my business—not that I ever thought he _was_. I get it; you want the best for him, and I’m just…” She manages a weak chuckle. “Me.”

Her forced laughter dies at the touch of a gentle hand on her arm. She drags her gaze up to find Regina looking her dead in the eye, expression softening for the first time this morning.

“Miss Swan, your rapport with Henry is one of the things I adore about you.” The shorter woman pauses, something flitting over her features, then lets her hand drop. “You never fail to engage him, which is more than I can claim. Possibly because you’re something of an overgrown child yourself.”

Before Emma can assemble a response, she sees Regina’s face shutter once more as she pivots and resumes her retreat. By the time she’s collected her thoroughly scattered thoughts, Regina has retrieved Henry and marched past Graham into her store.

When Emma tries to catch up, an apologetic Graham blocks her path. “Sorry,” he says. “But I’ve been informed you aren’t allowed in my jurisdiction.”

“Bite me,” she snaps, but Mulan drags her backward before she can show him exactly where to stick his fucking _jurisdiction_.

“Pick your battles,” her partner mutters. “It helps no one to make a scene.”

Still, Emma digs in her heels, resisting Mulan just long enough to call over Graham’s shoulder:

“ _One_ of the things?”

# SIX(-ish)

Emma is just sitting down with her cupcake when someone pounds on the door.

Resisting the urge to match the beat with her forehead and the table, she pushes to her feet and opens it. Frowning, she looks left, then right before finally thinking to look down.

“Henry?”

The kid wriggles past her, gaping at the cramped security office. “So many cameras!” he breathes. “Where do you keep the guns? What about the Tasers? Is there any extra pepper spray I can—”

“Kid!” she takes him by the shoulders, gently but firmly guiding him to a chair. “Slow down. We don’t have any guns and the rest is all locked up—you know, in case some smartass kid wanders in. Plus, your mom will full-on murder me if you somehow pepper spray yourself.”

But he’s already been distracted by her lunch. “What’s that? Is it your _birthday_?”

“What?” Emma scoops up the cupcake before he can get any ideas. “No, Ruby was going to throw it out.”

“And you’re eating it?”

“It’s just a few days old!” she defends, taking a bite and speaking as she chews. “Not e’en all the way stale ye’. Foo’ is foo’.” She’s glad Henry will probably never have to know how far the definition of “food” can be stretched, but does he have to make that face? Then again, that might have more to do with how she’s spraying crumbs with every word.

“Why’re you here, Henry?” Emma asks after she swallows.

“I’ve been looking for you for _weeks_.” He heaves a theatrical sigh. “Were you hiding in here the whole time?”

“No!” In fact, she _has_ picked up a few extra monitor shifts over the past month for… reasons, but Henry doesn’t need to know that. She’s not _hiding_. “I’m on my lunch break, actually.”

“In here? Why?”

“Because Mulan still doesn’t trust me to eat in public.”

Henry tilts his head, considering this. “Makes sense,” says the little traitor, then shoots to his feet. “But there’s no time for _eating_ , not now! You have to come with me!”

Emma rises with a little less enthusiasm. “What is it, kid?”

“It’s _Mom_. She’s been weird all month. It’s because of you, isn't it?”

It’s suddenly very cold in the security office. And somehow also very hot. Emma tugs at the collar of her uniform. “What… Henry, what do you know?”

The boy rolls his eyes. “I’m not dumb, Emma. I know you guys are fighting. I just don’t know _why_.”

Emma lets out a silent sigh of relief. Henry doesn’t need to know the details—the messy, thrilling, delicious details that still make her shiver even a full twenty-eight days after the fact. “Regina and I are always fighting,” she tries to deflect.

“Not like this!” His round face collapses into a scowl. “Did she tell you to stop hanging out with me?”

“Actually, no. This has nothing to do with you, kid.”

Even as she says it, something about the claim rings false. Regina may have denied it, but Emma _knows_ it had been the mention of Henry that brought everything crashing down that night. She’d spent the rest of her shift wracking her brain, and her only half-decent conclusion was that Regina hadn't wanted anything past a naked, sweaty release. When she’d gotten the tiniest hint that Emma might be looking for more, she couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

The next morning, Emma had been expecting a cold shoulder, maybe a few awkward exchanges as they settled back behind old boundaries. What she’d gotten was an almost comical overreaction. Normal people didn’t hire bodyguards to avoid one-night stands. And then Regina had admitted there were things she liked— _adored_ —about Emma, and not just in the sweaty naked way.

Now she doesn’t know what Regina wants. She’s not sure _Regina_ knows what Regina wants. But Emma refuses to get her head bitten off while she figures it out. Hence the extra hours on monitor duty.

Striding to the door, Emma beckons for Henry to follow. “Are you taking me back to Mom?” he asks, voice hopeful.

“I’m taking you to Mulan,” she corrects, exiting and holding the door open behind her. “Then I’m going to finish my lu—uh oh.”

Down the hall, Mulan and Regina are talking—no, facing off. Her partner has planted herself at the center of the narrow access corridor, speaking in low, sharp tones. Emma cringes when she hears her own name, but realizes as Mulan goes on that she isn't upset _at_ her, but _for_ her.

“—as long as it takes for you to _figure it out_ ,” Mulan finishes with a hiss, then pivots sharply on one booted heel. When she sees Emma, her indignation gives way to discomfort, cheeks coloring as she marches into the security office without a word. Shaking her head, Emma turns back to find Regina still standing at the end of the hallway, fingers twisting together before her stomach.

Emma gives her a neutral nod. “You here for Henry?”

“Henry?” The other woman blinks, then sags. “I—Yes, of course.”

 _Of course._ Emma turns back to the office. “Henry—”

“Wait.” Regina is closer now, mere paces away. “I’m not… I’m not _only_ here for Henry,” she says, eyes shining amongst their dingy surroundings. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk.”

Emma resists the urge to take a step back. “Maybe another time,” she hedges, glancing back at the haven of the security room. “I’m pretty busy right n—”

She sees a flash of Henry’s grin and Mulan’s raised eyebrow before the door slams shut beside her. The lock clicks as she lunges for the knob, just an instant too late. With a slow breath, Emma straightens her spine and shares a thin smile with Regina.

“Looks like my schedule just opened up.”

.

.

.

The crowds part around them as they walk, side by side and yet miles apart.

“You have loyal friends.” Regina breaks the silence at last. “I’ve never seen Officer Hua so up in arms.”

“I didn’t ask her to say anything,” says Emma, rubbing the back of her neck. It’s a new feeling, being stuck up for. Mostly embarrassing, but a bit nice. “Didn’t even tell her that much about… you know, us.”

“No… specifics?”

“No!” Shooting Regina an indignant look, she spies a twitch of the shorter woman’s mouth. “Oh, very funny.”

“Just making sure.” Still not quite smiling, Regina meets her eye before glancing away. “Anyone else I should be worried about?”

Knowing Mulan… “Ruby, probably.” Alarm crosses her companion’s face, and Emma rushes to reassure her. “Relax,” she snorts. “She’s too terrified of you to spread it around. But I’d stay away from Granny’s for a little longer if I were you.”

“A little longer,” Regina echoes, and the mood plummets. “Yes. At least until we’ve… sorted things out.”

“Wasn’t sure there was anything _to_ sort out.”

She watches a muscle jump in Regina’s jaw, the other woman falling into silence for a long moment. “I was afraid,” she says at last. “That night and the morning after. When I told you it had been some time, I was talking about more than the physical. It was hardly an issue, really. I had my routine, my work, my son. Seeking out anything more never crossed my mind until—until _you_ came along.”

Emma has to grin at the burst of exasperation. For an instant, Regina matches her smile, but her face is soon clouded over once more.

“Suddenly you were just _there_ , and then, so quickly, you were everywhere. Disrupting my routine, lurking around my work, growing thick as thieves with my son. You were so…”

She trails off as they arrive at the wing that hosts her store. Graham is posted at the entrance today, and Emma spares him a nod. While she’s kept her distance from Mills—both the store and the woman—Graham hadn’t been so easy to avoid. For _some reason_ , Mulan had put her in charge of his orientation. It hadn't been as bad as Emma had feared; when he’s not being used as an oblivious, square-jawed prop, Graham’s an easy man to like, bursting with camping stories and pictures of his enormous wolfhounds.

Regina glances between them, lips pursing as she comes to a halt. She’s quiet for what feels like an eternity, and Emma waits until she can't anymore. “I was so what? Stubborn?” she suggests. “Ridiculous? Less mature than a ten-year-old?”

“ _Emma_ ,” Regina sighs, shaking her head, and says nothing more.

“Uh, yeah?”

“That’s all. You were so… _you_. Never more or less, just Emma.”

Emma’s really not sure how to take that. If this is some long, winding way for Regina to let her down easy, it’s not doing the job. She forces a shaky grin. “That another thing you adore about me?”

“Yes.” She stares at the flat response, the look on her face earning a chuckle from Regina. “What I’m trying to say is—” Her mouth moves silently for several seconds. “I was afraid,” she repeats.

“You said that already.”

“I _was_ afraid.”

This time, Emma catches the emphasis. “So what changed?”

“I went back to my routine,” says Regina. “My job, my son. And it was like nothing had changed.”

Emma feels her brows contract. “Sounds… great?”

“It was torture,” Regina blurts. “ _Weeks_ I tried to deny it, going through the motions until I had to admit that I was… missing something. Someone.” Emma holds her breath as Regina steps closer, raising a hesitant hand to her cheek. She covers it with one of her own, and feels some of the tension seep from the smaller woman’s frame. Soft brown eyes fill Emma’s vision, a low laugh tickling her lips. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

The smile spreads slowly, growing until Emma’s face aches. “Maybe. I mean I sat through the whole speech, seems like I should get the ending.”

“ _Miss Swan_.” Regina ducks her head, hair failing in a dark curtain about her face, but her own smile shines through. “Very well,” she huffs. “I missed—”

As sweet as the confession would have been, Emma is sure the kiss is far sweeter. She feels Regina lean up the instant their lips touch, her hand sliding to cradle Emma’s jaw. This time it’s more than passion that fuels them, but there’s heat all the same, blooming in Emma’s breast as she tugs Regina close.

The kiss lasts forever, but it’s still too soon when they break apart. A smattering of applause draws a surprised laugh to Emma’s tingling lips and a scowl to Regina’s, but even her regal glower loses some of its punch when the grin beneath keeps peeking through. Over Regina’s shoulder, Emma sees Graham wiping a tear from his eye, Belle watching with hands clasped to her chest.

At her side, Regina shifts, and all thoughts of other people fly from Emma’s head. “I missed you too,” she whispers.

“Yes, well.” Regina straightens a blazer that has somehow come askew, then clears her throat to address their rubbernecking audience. “Nothing to see here,” she snaps, glaring at anyone who dares linger. “Move along.” One arm hooking through Emma’s, she resumes their walk, turning back toward where they’d left—

“Henry,” Emma says aloud, fighting down a swell of uncertainty. “What does he think about… us?”

“Are you joking?” Regina heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Despite my best efforts, he adores you.”

Emma’s chest swells with relief. Relief, and a more than a little triumph. “I hear he’s not the only one.”

“Ugh.” Regina snatches her arm away, only to interlace their fingers a moment later. “But you haven't seen him this past month. He’s been off the walls without your particular brand of distraction—Oh!” Her feet stutter to a halt. “That reminds me…” Puzzled, Emma watches Regina pivot back to face her storefront.

“Graham!” she calls. “You’re fired.”

Regina is walking again before her words have faded, leading Emma away with a baffled voice on their heels.

“What? Why?”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry! About five minutes later, Graham is re-hired by Mulan and spends the rest of his days happily patrolling the mall petting zoo :D


End file.
